


A banquet of convivence

by chimosa



Series: Banquet [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Kid Fic, Light Omegaverse, M/M, Mpreg, Sequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-04
Updated: 2013-10-04
Packaged: 2017-12-28 10:24:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/990926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chimosa/pseuds/chimosa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>A follow up (of sorts) to: <a>A banquet of consequences</a></i>.  </p><p>“Yeah, you smell like a roasted chicken.”</p><p>“Do I?” Stacey asked as she helped buckle Amelia into her carseat.</p><p>“Yup,” the little girl said as the lightening-fast reflexes that served her well on the monkey bars grabbed Stacey’s wrist. She brought her babysitter’s hand to her pert nose and took an exaggerated sniff. “Like a big, fat, juicy chicken.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	A banquet of convivence

**Author's Note:**

> This is a completely unnecessary, light-hearted kidfic and I have no excuse for writing it. It’s a vague companion piece to my broodier story A banquet of consequences but you don’t need to read that to understand this at ALL. There’s some light A/B/O, and by extention mpreg stuff but don’t let that scare you. I really hope you enjoy reading this and, as always, feedback makes my twisted heart sing ;-)

“Amelia, your babysitter’s here to take you home,” Teacher Veronica announced brightly but it was totally unnecessary. Stacey Hart could see from the way the little girl’s face fell that she had been spotted and found wanting.

“Come on, kid, let’s get going,” Stacey said, voice masking the disappointment that had crept up as Amelia turned away. 

When Amelia Lecter-Graham was in a good mood, Stacey’s job was a joy. The five year old was bright and a surprisingly good conversationalist when she wanted to be. When she wasn’t it was the longest four hours of Stacey’s day and from the looks of things today was going to be a doozy. 

“Amelia,” she cajoled.

“Teacher Valentina,” Amelia said, her sweet voice loud, her words clearly enunciated. She was small for her age, easily the tiniest in the class, but whatever had led to her slow physical development hadn’t affected her ability to mental faculties. “I can’t go home with Stacey. She’s a stranger and Daddy says I’m not supposed to go anywhere with strangers.”

“It’s a lot more believable if you don’t say my name when you pretend not to know me,” Stacey advised as she hustled the little girl into her backpack and out the kindergarten class door. 

Amelia gave a great sigh and rolled her bright blue eyes to the ceiling, but her fingers automatically found Stacey’s as they walked down the marble staircase, her other hand cautiously touching the iron banister. McCaulester Prep was one of the most prestigious private schools in Baltimore, and it showed in the beautiful, old building where the K through sixth grade classes were held. The other nannies had once whispered to Stacey-- as they sat on a bench watching their charges climb up the playground’s slide-- that the tuition was an astounding $40,000 a year. It seemed insane to Stacey’s middle class sensibilities, but then again Amelia’s fathers weren’t exactly hurting for money. 

Her weekly paycheck attested to that.

“I’m parked around the corner,” Stacey said. Amelia rolled her eyes again.

“Did you have a fun time at school today?”

Amelia growled in answer.

“Are you hungry?”

Another growl.

“Was that you or Winston?” Stacey teased and got a huff for her troubles.

“Do you know what you want for a snack?”

Amelia clapped her small palms over her own ears. 

“Stop talking or I’ll have to kill you.”

Stacey pulled Amelia off to the side so the other parents and children could walk by as she stooped to the child’s eye level. She wasn’t surprised by the talk of killing and brushed it off just as she had when, three weeks earlier, Amelia had continually threatened to poop on Stacey’s chest. Actually, it was a relief to be out of the constant-talk-of-poop phase. Even if it had been amusing to watch Amelia’s pristine and proper Papa’s mouth tighten slightly with every mention of the bodily function. 

“Did you forget that I was picking you up today?”

A stony silence accompanied Stacey’s question but she waited it out. Sure enough, the injustice of the situation superseded the little girl’s ability to hold a grudge.

“I thought Papa was coming,” she said, voice a mournful whine.

“That would have been fun, huh?” Stacey said and Amelia reluctantly nodded. “Or maybe even Daddy--”

“Or both!” interrupted Amelia, excitedly, toothy smile breaking through her former misery. 

“Or both!” Stacey agreed, matching her exuberant tone as she ran a palm over Amelia’s wild, blonde curls that never-quite looked brushed despite her dad’s best efforts. “That would have been awesome! Papa and Daddy...”

“Or Aunt Alana!”

“Or maybe even Aunt Alana! Anyone else would have been better than smelly old Stacey.”

“Smelly Stacey. Smelly, chickenish Stacey.”

“Chickenish? That one’s new.” Stacey asked, holding firm to this playful change of mood as they made their way to Stacey’s new Prius, paid for with this year’s exceedingly generous Christmas bonus. 

“Yeah, you smell like a roasted chicken.”

“Do I?” Stacey asked as she helped buckle Amelia into her carseat. 

“Yup,” the little girl said as the lightening-fast reflexes that served her well on the monkey bars grabbed Stacey’s wrist. She brought her babysitter’s hand to her pert nose and took an exaggerated sniff. “Like a big, fat, juicy chicken.”

“I think you’re hungry.”

“I am,” Amelia agreed, as she was buckled in. Stacey handed her Winston, the well-loved stuffed wolf she took where ever she went. “You better stay away from me or I might have to eat you.”

“That would suck,” admitted Stacey. 

“Not for me,” sang out Amelia as the car door closed.

***

As Stacey pulled up to the Lecter-Graham home she took quick stock of the driveway. Will’s car was there, probably working from home again. Stacey sighed as she pulled her Prius alongside his Mercedes. She never liked it when parents were in the house while she babysat: regardless of the family, there was always extra pressure to keep the kids quiet and occupied and away from the one person in the home that outranked Stacey.

It didn’t help that Will gave Stacey the creeps. She knew it was unfair, but there was something about the great frown lines that dug deep around his tired eyes and sad mouth, something bleak and troubling. 

It wasn’t that she suspected he was an omega either. Stacey wasn’t dumb: Amelia looked a little too much like both Dr. Lecter and Will to have come from a surrogate as they both claimed. Besides, Stacey had met plenty of stay-at-home omegas in her time babysitting the upper echelons of Baltimore society and it hadn’t ever bothered her before. She had gone to Sarah Lawrence, for godsakes: she had written papers on the Omega Lib movement, she had been arrested in her first week there for protesting the last remaining draconian federal laws with her classmates. Solidarity and all that; she was as liberal as they came. 

Still, though. There was something dark and seething in those eyes that never-quite caught her own-- the eyes so painfully like Amelia’s-- that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. Whenever he was home, Stacey was convinced he was somehow still watching her . 

His saving grace, thought, the one thing she couldn’t begrudge him was the fact that he so obviously loved his daughter. When he caught sight of Amelia, the distant hollowness that creeped Stacey out so much drained from his face. His expression changed into one filled with a quiet wonder that always took Stacey by surprise. 

And by the looks him, it seemed to surprise Will even more. 

As she pressed the button that killed the ignition, the soft sounds of Amelia’s imaginary play drifted to the front seat. When she was deep in her imagination it could be hard to pull her out and Stacey rolled her eyes in an exasperated gesture that had fascinated Amelia in their first few weeks together. Since then the little girl had adopted and summarily perfected the gesture for her own and Stacey pitied her parents for what kind of monster they’d have to deal with when Amelia was a teenager. 

The little girl was holding a pack of gum up to her ear like a cell phone and was insisting “I told you never to call here. You know? And stuff and no. No, it’s not up for discussion. Ugh, why don’t you and no let me. There’s like blah blah. Leave me alone. I’m telling you-”

“Amelia.”

“Listen, there’s stuff and things and blah blah and another thing, Miss Lounds-”

“Amelia, I need you to hang up the phone, we’re home.”

“-I _told_ you-”

“Amelia!”   
“What?” Long lashes blinked lazily up at Stacey as Amelia’s far away gaze met hers in the rearview mirror.

“I need you to hang up the phone, we’re home.”

“That’s a rude way of asking,” Amelia said and Stacey swallowed her smile. 

“Please hang up your phone.”

“Talk to you later,” Amelia whispered into the gum pack before swooshing her finger across the package’s cardboard surface. “It’s a smart phone,” she confided.

“I can see that. Listen, I need you to do me a favor. When we go inside I need you to promise me you’ll be quiet and go straight up to the playroom and wait for me there. I’ll bring your snack to you, but it looks like your daddy’s home.”

“I want to see Daddy.”

“I know, sweetheart, but you have to wait until six, okay? Promise me?”

A silently arched eyebrow and Stacey amended: “Please?”

“Okay. Pinkie swear,” Amelia held out her tiny pinkie and Stacey obliged, taking it with her own. As always, she marveled at how delicate the girl’s finger was and how easy it would be to snap with one sharp move.

Stacey pushed the thought away firmly, shocked by her own mind. God, if her fathers knew the kinds of weird shit that sometimes popped into her head they would be horrified. 

Amelia was true to her word, taking off her shoes at the door and padding silently to her playroom. 

“Amelia,” Stacey whisper-shouted after her. “What do you want to eat?”

“A smorgasbord,” she stage-whispered back between cupped hands.

Stacey huffed a laugh as she nodded her understanding. Amelia’s vocabulary never failed to impress. 

“A smorgasbord,” Stacey mused to herself as she opened the well-stocked fridge and looked about for inspiration. 

Fruit was easy, there were some dark, nearly-black concord grapes and Stacey took them out to set aside on the counter. She recognized a block of cheese as being the incredibly sharp cheddar that Amelia liked her grilled cheeses made from. Maybe she’d like some slices on the side, Stacey considered and set that to the side as well. 

_Not so bad._

Now for some meat.

Amelia was such a carnivore, and Stacey cast about the fridge for something she might enjoy. Pushing past a few glass containers, the rich man’s tupperware as Stacey had privately dubbed it, of foodstuff marinating a flash of bloody pink caught her eye. 

_What is the world kind of meat is that?_ Stacey rummaged groceries about to get a better--

“Looking for something in particular?”

Stacey startled, enough to nearly brain herself on the freezer door’s handle when she automatically stood.

“Dr. Lecter!” A hand steadied her shoulder as her own hand flew to her rapidly-beating chest. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“My apologies,” Dr. Lecter, ever- solicitous despite his obvious amusement. His dark eyes sparkled mischievously and Stacey laughed ruefully at herself. He indicated the still-open refrigerator. “Is there something in particular you are looking for.”

“Not really, just putting together a snack for Amelia.”

“Ah,” he said, stepping back. 

“Yeah, she said she wanted a smorgasbord,” Stacey reported. Parents always got a kick out of the wild things their kids said when they weren’t around and Dr. Lecter was no different, his mouth stretching from smirk into a real smile. “Figure I’d better make it good, she says she’s so hungry she’s gonna eat me.”

Dr. Lecter’s smile got toothy. “Well we certainly can’t have that. Let me see what she might like to eat instead.”

Stacey watched as Amelia’s papa bent, examining the contents of the fridge. His beautifully tailored suit stretching across his broad shoulders as he stooped. Dr. Lecter was a good looking man, one that wore his age as comfortably as he wore his affluence. Normally Stacey’s blue collar upbringing made her uncomfortable when faced with such conspicuous wealth but in Dr. Lecter’s presence it just _was_. 

Add to that the fact that, in her time with the family, he had never once tried to come on to her, something some alphas seemed almost compulsively drawn to do, and he had easily become one of the best employers Stacey had ever had. She felt at ease, safe even, in his presence. Throw in the Christmas bonuses and she’d lay down her life for the man, gladly. 

“I’ve got fruit and dairy, already,” Stacey offered.

“Here,” Dr. Lecter said, producing what looked like some sort of tenderloin. “I had a colleague over for lunch. Perhaps she’d like what was left over.”

“That’ll work,” Stacey agreed, taking the container from Dr. Lecter’s hands and stepping aside so that she could start to prepare a plate. 

“You are welcome to some as well,” he offered, watching as she took down the wooden cutting board and selected a knife to take to the cheese.

“No thanks. I might get into some of the grapes, though.”

“Still a vegetarian?” Dr. Lecter seemed to find the concept endlessly amusing. It wasn’t pointed, like some people could be when they learned of her dietary restrictions, like somehow her moral-based eating reflected something immoral about their own. His was more like a gentle teasing, and Stacey took it with a good-humored smile. 

“A vegan, yeah, and I’m afraid so. I’m still determined to save the world one plant-based meal at a time.”

“Pity. What if I could assure you this particular pig lived happily, blissfully unaware of his destiny until destiny came for him?”

“We should all be so lucky.”

They settled into a companionable silence as Stacey arranged the plate. 

“Speaking of killing, you’ll be pleased to know Amelia has only killed me once today.”

“A vast improvement from yesterday.”

“I thought so,” Stacey agreed. “Are you going to come down and get her at six or should I tell her her daddy is?”

“I’m afraid I have a few more patients today. Will should be finished with his work by then.”

“Awesome.” After the extra food was put away Stacey lifted the plate. “Here’s hoping this tribute will appease her and she won’t kill me anymore today. I swear lately it’s like babysitting _The Bad Seed_.”

“Good luck,” Dr. Lecter bade Stacey with gallows humor. 

“Here, kid,” Stacey interrupted another elaborate imagination play (five stuffed animals lined up, each taking their turn to get “animalyzed” as she told them “that’s the wrong door, you’re supposed to go out the other one _why don’t you ever listen_ , let’s talk about your mother”) “I come bearing snacks. And look, I made you a surprise.”

Stacey presented the plate as Amelia exclaimed “It looks like a happy face!”

“Exactly. Eat that face, not mine.”

Amelia cheerfully complied, starting with the tenderloin smile. Stacey threw herself into her customary place on the comfortable low-seated sofa. “Want some entertainment with that?”

Amelia nodded, hastily swallowing down a healthy bite before calling out “Doc McStuffins!”

Stacey paused, her finger hovering over the television’s remote. She arched her eyebrow.

“Oh!” Amelia shook her head, wild blonde curls flying. “Duh. Please!”

They settled in, alternating between watching the T.V. and playing- 

_”You’re my patient and you have something terribly wrong with you.”_

_“I’m your patient and I’m afraid there’s something terribly wrong with me.”_

_“We’re gonna hafta operate! I need something to cover my ball gown so it doesn’t get too bloody. I’m afraid you're not gonna make it.”_

_“That’s too bad.”_

_“I mean you’re gonna die.”_

_“Again?”_

-until a gentle knock rapped at the door.

“Daddy!” cried Amelia, wildly flinging herself into her father’s arms as he crouched in preparation for her. He buried his face in the crook of her neck as he hugged her, taking a deep sniff of his child and Stacey tactfully didn’t notice the moment of maternal bonding. She waited until they broke apart before pulling him into the game they were in the midst of, to better smooth the transition between babysitter-to-parental-figure.

“Thank goodness you’ve come. I’m at the hospital and it doesn’t look so good.”

“She’s about to die. It’s gonna be bloody,” Amelia told her daddy earnestly, catching his eyes with hers from her perch on his knee. For a moment Will’s eyes flickered away, like he was seeing something he’d rather not, but it was only for a moment. Amelia certainly hadn’t caught the lapse but Stacey did and it sent a shiver down her back. He quickly blinked the vision away and cleared his throat.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said, trying for a playful tone though it came out somewhat strained.

“I’m not!” Amelia declared. “It’s only smelly old chickenish Stacey.”

“Chickenish?” Will asked, baffled as he looked to Stacey for an answer.

“You don’t want to know,” Stacey said lightly as she put the playroom back into order. “Anyway, I think that’s it. I’ll see you on Monday, enjoy your weekend, kid.”

“Can I walk you to your car?” Amelia asked plaintively, and the sound made Stacey smile fondly. For all the little girl liked to pretend Stacey was a nuisance, she did have moments of separation anxiety when it was time to part. 

“Sure, I could use the company.”

Amelia, after getting assurances that her daddy would stay put ( _“But really Daddy promise. Promise you won’t move.” “I promise.” “But not a muscle, not even a little. Pinkie swear it!”_ ) walked her babysitter to the driveway, hugging Stacey’s forearm close the entire time. 

When they got there, Stacey squatted to look Amelia in the eye. 

“Look, I want you to promise something to me.” She waited until she felt the full, solemn weight of the girl’s attention before continuing. “I want you to quit talking about killing so much-”

“-but-” Stacey held out her pinkie and Amelia went quiet.

“-just until Monday.”

Amelia held her pinkie away, frowning. The creases in her furrowed brow reminded Stacey of the ones that had darkened her daddy’s face moments earlier and Stacey’s resolve solidified.

“I don’t think your daddy likes it,” she explained. “If you can hold off until Monday I promise you can kill me as much as you’d like next week.”

“Promise?” Amelia asked suspiciously, her pinkie closer now.

“Yep.”

“Okay!” Amelia said, her serious mood turning on a dime into something rapturous as they pinkie swore, kissing their thumbs for good measure.

_Careful. So easy to snap._

“Sweet! I’m going to kill you one thousand hundred million forty two times!”

“That sounds great. I’m looking forward to it.”


End file.
